


When You Were

by HopeForTheWitch



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, Fix-It, Inspired by Travelers (TV), Multi, Not Canon Compliant - Harry Potter and the Chamber of Secrets, POV Third Person Limited, Post-War, Time Travel, Unreliable Narrator, Well they try to fix it
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-16
Updated: 2020-10-16
Packaged: 2021-03-09 03:54:05
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,485
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27048289
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HopeForTheWitch/pseuds/HopeForTheWitch
Summary: 50 years after the defeat of Voldemort, all is not well. As a last resort, a group of people send their consciousness back to when they believe things went wrong: the Summer of 1992.The problem? They miscalculate and Harry misfires.Well, at least Ginny's safe now.
Relationships: Harry Potter & Tom Riddle
Comments: 8
Kudos: 47





	When You Were

**Author's Note:**

> Beta'd by [Duenova](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Duenova/pseuds/Duenova), thank you!! <3

_“Ready?”_

_“Let’s do this.”_

_Outside the warehouse, the world burns._

* * *

_She drops her pens._

_It hurts for exactly ten seconds before it stops, a flash of a migraine like none she’s ever had before, and she kneels with a gasp, grabbing her head and groaning in the aftermath._

_She takes a moment to grieve for the girl she could’ve been but overwrote._

* * *

_“Are you alright, dear?” Mother asks._

_He nods but flinches away from her touch._

_He wishes he could tell her that her son is dead now._

_* * *_

_“Come now, none of that! Sit up straight, boy!”_

_He glares at his plate instead of his grandmother._

_He wonders what shape her grief would take._

_* * *_

_She shrugs her sister off her shoulders. “It’s fine,” she says, because the girl doesn’t need to know her sister has ceased to exist._

_Victory tastes bittersweet._

_* * *_

_The twins pale at the sight of him. “Did we do that?” they whisper to each other._

_“Not today,” he grunts._

_“We should let Mum know,” one of them says._

_He opens his eyes and they burn upon seeing his brothers alive and well. “Don’t.”_

_They laugh with relief. “Oh, good.”_

_They laugh, because they don’t know better._

_They laugh, because they don’t know that he was overwritten by a future he’ll never get to see._

_* * *_

There is a creature standing by his ratty bed.

Harry nearly goes to his knees, a surprised yell frozen in his throat. Quietly he pushes the door closed behind him. The creature looks much like a ragdoll with huge eyes. Through his bedroom window comes morning sunshine, almost mocking in its bright greeting of Harry’s forgotten birthday. This was not a gift he’d foreseen.

He has a long list of chores for today, courtesy of the evening’s guests, and Aunt Petunia is going to yell at him any second now, and he doesn’t know what to do about the creature standing right there in his bedroom. “Can I help you?” is what he ends up asking.

“Oh, Harry Potter, sir,” the creature cries.

Harry withholds a grimace, doesn’t want to seem mean, but now is not the time for loud noises, because it’s just going to bring back Aunt Petunia even faster if she’s remembered of his existence that way.

“I kinda can’t talk right now,” Harry says quietly. “I have, er, _things_ to do, lots of things, so can we—can this—I can’t really talk right now.”

“Dobby comes to deliver a package, Harry Potter, great sir,” the creature says, bowing deeply and then it brandishes a manila envelope at him. “For you, sir.”

Harry furrows his brow but takes it regardless. “Er. Thanks, I guess,” he says, but most of his attention is on the manila envelope. It’s so thick the flap is left open, so Harry carefully keeps it upright. There is nothing written on the envelope, not his name, nothing about the sender either. He has a lot of questions, but—

“BOY!”

“Dobby is sorry, Harry Potter.” A loud _pop_ echoes through the room.

When Harry rips his eyes from the envelope, the creature is gone. 

  
* * *

Other than the surprise visit by whatever it was that came to his bedroom this morning, his birthday goes as it always does, though perhaps this year he has more chores than usual courtesy of the important guests coming over this evening. They won’t be _his_ guests, of course, as if the Dursleys would ever let that happen. 

Harry having guests? The _audacity_.

Uncle Vernon’s guests won’t even be aware he exists.

He has something to look forward to this evening, however. There is a thick envelope waiting for him upstairs, with what looked like a lot of paper inside from the quick glance he’d been able to give it before Aunt Petunia rapped her knuckles on his door.

* * *

There have been no letters from his friends, and Harry’s gotten lonely. 

Now that he knows what it’s like to have friends, he misses having them, and now he’s left wondering if it’s normal that your friends don’t contact you all summer long, even though they promised to write.

He sits on his bed, staring at the envelope, and lets himself brood for a long moment.

 _Why?_ is what he keeps asking himself, but the answer never comes.

* * *

Out comes a huge stack of papers, all of them blank except the one on top, which has a list of numbers on it. He spreads them out while making sure to keep them in order, in case that’s important. Unlike the rest of the sheets, the top one has activity on it. Harry watches as letters begin to appear, and the lines arrange themselves by number.

_004: Checking in & securing package _

_008: Checking in_

_009: Checking in & starting distribution _

Throughout the evening, more numbers “check in”, whatever that means, but Harry’s more interested in the book that he found between the papers. The book is a simple, nondescript red notebook. The cover shows the number _1992_ but contrary to what the outside would let anyone to believe, it’s not a diary. Its pages are lined, true, but there are no dates, no days listed; they’re utterly blank. Yet, much like what happened with the stack of papers, when he watches, short messages start to appear. They come with a number in the margin that Harry guesses corresponds to whoever checked in on that other list. 

_004: Package not found. Elves no help either._

_002: Diagon Alley coming up, we can intercept it._

Interesting. 

He feels a little bit like a spy from films he doesn’t get to watch but listens to through the catflap anyway, the action made possible by Vernon and Dudley, who often turn the volume up loud enough that the entire street can probably hear them. It’s a wonder Petunia lets them, as surely she hates it when neighbours do that to them.

He feels a bit better about his neglected birthday.

* * *

Throughout the next few days, more and more messages appear. Some are really confusing, some sort of code that Harry doesn’t even know how to start to decipher. The list from the manila envelope, where people checked in, hasn’t had any entries in two days, though some of the numbers are still missing. There is no 001, no 010 and no 013, but there is a 014.

After the initial spy-like messages, the coded chatter devolves into chitchat. Harry goes from mentally referring to it as a spy-book to buddy-book, because that seems more appropriate now that he sees their chatting.

_005: I just walked straight into a door_

_003: haven’t gotten used to it?_

_006: Did you break anything?_

_005: no and no_

_006: Pity._

_004: I don’t see how this is relevant. Please take your conversation elsewhere._

Some of the conversation makes him grin, more than once he’s been tempted to grab a pen and write in the diary too. But he doesn’t know them, and he’s not spy material, so he does nothing but read. The only sneaking he does is sneaking inside to check for more messages, the highlight of his day.

_002: We believe 001 misfired._

_003: don’t know what went wrong_

_004: Of course you don’t._

The buddy-book goes silent.

There are no more messages and still no letters from his friends.

The loneliness returns.

* * *

That evening, Harry has his letters back, including one from the Ministry on the use of underage magic. He reads them twice, thrice, but even if he wants to write back, he can’t.

Hedwig hoots sadly from where she’s locked inside her cage.

* * *

Diagon Alley is crowded and Harry sticks close to the Weasleys, Hermione and Neville.

Hermione has her hand on her chest, a strange smile on her face. “Oh, _Harry_ ,” she says, and then she reaches out and pats the back of his head, stroking his hair. Harry returns her gaze a little bewildered. “Of course we wouldn’t forget about you,” she says softly. She leans in to embrace him. “I’m sorry you thought that.”

“Have you eaten yet?” Ron asks.

“Ron, _please_ ,” Hermione says.

Neville sighs. “Don’t mind them, Harry.”

“Harry, as your—”

“Friend.”

“— _friend_ , I was going to say that,” Ron complains. “Hermione, would you _relax_?” 

“I don’t know, Ron, it seems an awful lot like you were going to start calling him Jennifer any second now. This is _Harry_ , Ron.”

“I think I’d know the difference between my friend and my—and _Jennifer_.”

Harry just follows his friends and tries not to let the confusion get to him.

* * *

Ginny slips on the way out of the bookstore, and she bumps hard into Harry’s back. She goes red, but Harry’s too worried about his books spread out on the floor to notice much of anything else.

* * *

_T.M.Riddle._

Harry traces the letters in the dead of the night. 

* * *

Harry dreams of Hogwarts, dreams of being friendless and alone, isolated. His dream shifts and he’s locked in a room at the Dursleys, bars in front of his window, bolts on his door.

* * *

He wakes up sweating, sits at the kitchen table in silence while the Weasleys bustle about.

“Did you have a bad dream?” Ron asks quietly.

Harry shrugs.

“It’s okay, we all have them sometimes.”

Hermione, who stayed the night as well, nods fiercely. “My cousin, he used to have them a lot when he was younger.” There’s a strange look on her face, one that Harry has trouble recognising. “When he was our age, I mean. Writing them down helped him a lot.”

* * *

_“I dreamt I was alone.”_

The ink sinks into the thin paper and then the letters are simply gone.

Harry frowns. That was a waste of time, except— 

_“Hello. That sounds terrible, would you like to talk about it?”_

Harry’s eyes light up.

It’s a buddy-book!

* * *

“I’m Harry,” he tells the person on the other side.

“Hello, Harry, I am Tom.”

* * *

Tom is a little weird, Harry recognises the signs; he knows all about being a freak.

“Nobody told me wixen could do this,” Harry writes.

“Wixen?” comes the curly script.

“Wizards and witches.”

“I see.” And then, “Nobody told you wixen could do what, Harry?”

Tom uses Harry’s name a lot, as if he’s making sure it’s still Harry who is writing to him instead of someone else. Harry doesn’t plan on giving away his buddy-book now that he has one of his own. 

Hermione and Ron are always writing in their own, and Harry feels left out but doesn’t know how to bring up that he, too, would like to have a book with them. He still has the red one from his birthday, but a new message has yet to appear.

Harry thinks carefully about his words, because he knows Tom doesn’t like it when he keeps crossing out his words. Tom doesn’t like abbreviations either or when Harry doesn’t use punctuation. ‘ _How am I supposed to know when you are done writing?_ ’

He puts quill to paper, makes sure to keep his grip and his letters light, the way Tom instructed him to do. “That we can talk to each other through magic books. It’s like pen pals but better. You could be anywhere and we’re writing to each other instantly!”

There’s a pause, then, “Yes, that is a remarkable feat.”

“I’m at Hogwarts now.”

“I gathered that much.” Another pause, longer this time. “I grew up in London, and now I’m at Hogwarts with you. Funny how that works.”

* * *

Sometimes, Harry gets the strangest urge to walk around the castle, but it’s only ever when it’s way past curfew already and he doesn’t want to get into trouble for something so stupid. 

He brushes it off and goes to bed instead.

* * *

_Goddamnit._

* * *

Ron and Hermione writing in their own books doesn’t mean they forgot about him, however. They’re a little off, and it doesn’t take a genius to understand they have some sort of secret going on, but Harry is so busy with schoolwork and writing to his new friend that he can shove their strange behaviour to the back of his mind.

Neville has become a quiet addition to their group. Where last year he’d been quiet and seemed to prefer fading into the background with bigger insecurities than even Harry’s, now he’s quiet but confident, _present_.

Like Ron and Hermione, Neville has sad airs about him sometimes, staring off into the distance and flinching when someone comes too close or there’s a loud noise. Harry learned all about hyperventilation the time he accidentally shocked Hermione so much she doubled over with a shout and a spell on her tongue that only partially made it past her lips.

And then, speaking of quiet, there is Draco Malfoy, who has yet to torment them this year.

Everytime they run into each other, Harry is tense and alert, ready for whatever it is that Malfoy tries this time, but it doesn’t happen anymore. He just stands there and nods and then he minds his own business, which is a relief, but suspicious all the same.

“Something’s going on with Malfoy,” Harry says one evening, because surely his friends have noticed that by now.

Neville glances up from what is either his diary or another friend-book. “Malfoy?”

“Yes, you know, he’s been leaving us alone all year, it’s _weird_. Something’s going on.”

Hermione looks exasperated but Harry doesn’t understand why. Malfoy tormented her just as much if not more so than Ron and Harry, so he doesn’t get why she doesn’t seem to care. “You’d think it was a good thing he left us alone,” she says.

“It’s not like him,” Harry argues.

“You know him that well, do you?” Ron says with a teasing note in his voice.

Harry flushes and curls in on himself.

Hermione’s face changes _instantly_ , and she makes a weird gesture at Ron before turning to Harry again. “We’re sorry, Harry, you’re _right_ , it is odd that he’s left us alone.” She bites her bottom lip. “But shouldn’t we just... celebrate the peace and quiet we have now? Enjoy it? Perhaps he just got bored with it, or maybe he has other things going on.”

Harry’s not entirely convinced, but, “That makes sense, yeah. So what do we do?”

“We do nothing but let it play out,” Neville says kindly but firmly.

It’s only because Harry is long past staring at his new friend, the one who is so different from last year, that he doesn’t gape. Whatever Neville drank during the summer, it worked wonders for him. Harry’s a little jealous at the confidence boost.

“Okay,” he says, “but if he gets weird again…” Harry trails off, not sure.

“Then we retaliate,” Hermione says, and she sounds highly amused, but when Harry looks at her, he can’t detect any of that in her face.

* * *

“I’m so tired,” Harry complains during dinner one evening.

“You need to eat better,” Hermione admonishes him.

“I eat plenty!”

“I didn’t say you didn’t eat plenty, but Harry, all you’re eating is carbs.” She grimaces.

“Well, I’m growing.”

Hermione sighs. “Are you or are you not tired lately?” She grabs his plate and starts filling it with different things than he would’ve picked. “You need more variety. Also less sugar, you will rot your teeth before you’re twenty.”

“Okay, _mother,_ ” Harry grumbles, but he accepts the plate and starts eating anyway.

* * *

It doesn’t help.

* * *

He shivers.

The castle is chilly at night and he regrets listening to the impulse of a late night walk.

He returns to the common room, tired and cold.

* * *

Harry’s a parselmouth.

The school is in hysterics, but at least he has Ron and Hermione sticking to him like glue, Neville quietly at his back.

“It’s okay, Harry, people are fickle. They’ll forget about it soon enough.”

Contrary to what Harry was expecting, Malfoy doesn’t do anything about it.

* * *

_In a bathroom, a girl squats on the floor with her hands in her hair, breathing deeply._

_“He’s a parselmouth,” someone whispers hotly, “we_ forgot _.”_

_A third person leans against a bathroom stall, arms folded. “It’s been, what, fifty years?”_

_“I know,_ I know _, we messed up, bad.” A fourth person punches the stall they’re standing next to, then cries out and laughs at themselves for their stupidity, all of them, because none of them had factored in fucking_ horcruxes _. “Fuck!”_

* * *

Little did they know, neither had someone else.

* * *

Christmas comes and goes, and then it’s the new year already and Harry feels awfully guilty toward Tom. “I’m sorry it’s been a while,” he writes in chicken-scratch. “I’ve been really busy and tired so all I do is eat and study and sleep. I’m sorry.”

The diary is silent.

“Are you mad at me?” Harry writes, handwriting shaky.

“I am saddened that you would believe me angry, Harry. Aren’t we friends?”

“Yes!” he writes back happily. Harry grins and sags with relief against his pillow. He can’t believe he has _four_ friends now, that’s double what he had last year. He yawns in his elbow, jaw popping.

As if knowing what’s going on, Tom writes, “It is late, you should be sleeping, Harry.”

Tom’s right, as always. He _is_ tired.

* * *

He is wide awake.

He is staring at himself in a bathroom mirror.

Why did he want to come here again?

With a shake of his head at himself and then a nod to Myrtle the ghost, who squeals loudly and disappears inside a toilet, he wraps himself securely in his invisibility cloak again and goes back to his common room.

Lately he’s had the _strangest_ impulses.

* * *

Ginny’s a quiet slip of a girl, with red hair that spills everywhere and a pair of scrutinising blue eyes. She mostly sits at the edge of Harry’s group of friends, though she does seem to get along well with her year-mates.

Harry wouldn’t have noticed her if not for Hermione’s insistence on including the girl in their group activities, such as studying in the library or playing games. Ron’s not like other boys their age when it comes to his baby sister either; he seems happy to include her, though the way he treats her gets on Ginny’s nerves a lot.

“I’m eleven, not five,” she complains.

Ron looks contrite. “I’m sorry. It’s hard, sometimes, to remember.”

That just upsets her more. “You’re not much older!” she snaps.

He looks slightly pained. “Oh, trust me, I know that.” His expression changes to one of sadness. “I’m just trying to—” He cuts off, winces. “Just trying to make sure things are alright with you.”

She huffs. “Yeah, well,” she says, and she folds her arms in front of her chest, moves her head from side to side, not quite a shake of her head, as she glares at him. “It’s embarrassing sometimes.”

Hermione makes a noise but cuts herself off just in time for it to become apparent what type of noise it was. She doesn’t look up from her essay. “Ron,” is all she says, odd tones in her voice that Harry has trouble deciphering.

“Alright, alright, I’ll back off.”

Ginny sticks her nose in the air but she’s smiling already. “Thanks.”

* * *

_“She doesn’t have it, I checked,” she says._

_“She’s safe,” the group concludes. “We did it.”_

* * *

Harry spots the snake on the sink during his fifth time in the bathrooms.

Myrtle giggles at him. “Coming here a lot, Harry,” she comments.

Harry shakes his head, fights against the fog that is his memory. “Sorry.”

* * *

“Tom,” Harry writes.

“Yes, Harry?”

“I keep having the weird urge to go visit this ghost girl. She hangs out in the loos.”

“What an odd place, Harry,” Tom writes back.

“I know and I just don’t get it.”

“Are you still tired?”

“All the time!” Harry instantly replies, and it’s true. 

It’s got worse over the months, in fact. It’s almost Easter now, and though he’s been eating better, he’s still exhausted all the time, as if he’s not getting enough sleep or something. The impulsive walks after curfew aren’t helping either. At least there’s none of the stress from last year, like with the stone, going on, because he doesn’t think he could handle that right now.

He thinks that if they’d let him, he could sleep all day.

* * *

Sometimes Harry thinks he should be more concerned, but he finds he’s not worried at all.

Everything is going well. His grades are up, even Potions because Malfoy stopped sabotaging him. He has four friends now, and they’re all good friends too, Harry has come to really like Neville’s brand of quiet determination. Ron and Neville both seem to have new habits they picked up in the summer, going to bed way too early and then getting up early. Every day after dinner, Hermione, Ron and Neville take a walk, _enjoying nature_. Harry joined once, but their pace is brutal.

“They’re like my grandparents,” Seamus says one day, watching them go. He usually doesn’t really talk with Harry anymore after the whole parselmouth thing came out, but he must find this important enough to share. “Except mine take morning walks.”

“Mine go to bed at nine,” Dean jumps in.

“Mine are like them, they go to bed at ten ‘cause they wanna read and shit.”

“Boring. My grandfather falls asleep on the couch watching telly all the time, and then he gets up like this,” Dean says. He makes a snoring sound, head thrown back, mouth slightly open. He leans slightly backward as if on a sofa, then he suddenly sits up straight with a loud pig noise. “Did I fall asleep?” he asks in a low voice.

Harry and Seamus laugh.

* * *

“ _Come, Harry._ ”

Harry turns in bed, eyes closed, and yawns. “What—where?” he mumbles tiredly. “Can’t I just sleep? I wanna sleep.”

“ _Let me guide you, Harry._ ”

* * *

Harry sits up, wide awake.

“Are you okay?” Ron asks, eyes narrowed.

The impulse to visit Myrtle hits him like an itch that he _has_ to scratch. “Yeah, I’m fine,” Harry says, quite obviously distracted. Where did he leave his cloak? “I’m just… gonna go for a walk.”

Ron glances at the clock, then back at Harry. “It’s midnight,” he says flatly. 

Harry shrugs.

Ron’s eyes narrow further. “Go to bed, Harry.”

“I just want to go for a walk.”

“ _Go_ to bed.”

* * *

“Do you like me this much, Harry?” Myrtle asks him, floating behind him.

Harry paces. “Sure,” he says, and once more he wonders why he’s here, why he wants to visit this ghost so much. She’s nothing special that Harry can discover, she’s just dead.

And then— 

“ _Open_ ,” he hisses. 

He jerks back from the sink, surprised at himself. 

* * *

  
“You lied to me,” Harry whispers, horrified.

“I never lied to you,” the apparition says, “I let you come to your own conclusions.”

“You could’ve said,” Harry argues, and he feels tears pricking his eyes.

“And why would I correct you if it kept you writing to me, sweet Harry?”

“I would’ve kept writing.”

“Really?” Tom gives him a skeptical look. “And why is that?” 

“Because you were my friend.”

“Lord Voldemort is nobody’s friend,” Tom sneers.

“You’re _wrong_ ,” Harry snaps, then pauses. “Wait, what do you mean, Lord Voldemort?”

Tom laughs and laughs and _laughs_. 

* * *

“ _Friend_ ,” he whispers incredulously to himself while the basilisk slithers into the chamber.

* * *

“Harry!” Ron shouts, and he sounds panicked.

Harry looks up and away, and the basilisk lunges, as much as a beast that large can, and he—

* * *

Harry’s ears are ringing loudly.

His existence is one of pain, blinding him and disarming him. He kneels in the water and heaves. The pain ebbs away within seconds, but Harry’s still dizzy in the aftermath. “Aw, fuck, why does this always happen,” he groans. He clutches his head as his vision darkens for a second. His head feels heavy, a pressure on his eyes, but he manages to stay upright. He coughs and his arm throbs something fierce. “Zero-zero-one checking in.”

“Impossible, that’s not—that’s not _possible_ ,” Tom hisses through his teeth.

Harry spits out a mouthful of blood from where he’d bit his tongue. “There are many impossibilities, but that wasn’t one of them, I’m afraid.”

“It’s basilisk venom,” Tom snarls, much like an angry cat.

Harry sighs, straightens. “I have a grandson your age,” he begins, fully intending to fondly regale Tom with tales of Michael Potter, the eldest grandchild, aged fifteen and almost as much of a misbehaving brat as Tom is... if one ignores the murder and the horcruxes, that is.

“Goddamnit, Harry, _not_ now!” Ron bellows at the top of his lungs.

* * *

_“Ready?” Hermione asks, one hand planted firmly on the device._

_“Let’s do this,” Ron agrees. He’d give her a kiss for good luck, but time is running out. With pain in his heart, a thought for his family, his left hand joins her right one on the metal slate, fingertips touching the embossed runes._

_“Ron?” Lady Ginevra’s voice calls out. “Oh, Ron, I know you’re there!” She laughs._

_Ron shudders, can hear the loud screeches of whatever the fuck it is that she summoned clawing at the doors, can hear their frustrated screams when the wards manage to hold them at bay. “Where the fuck are the others?” he asks. “We don’t have much ti—”_

_Just then, Draco, Astoria and Harry come skidding into the old office, all three bumping into the large desk in the corner. They each still have their stack of papers with them. “We checked, they’re correct,” Draco says quickly. “Let’s go.”_

_“Hurry!” Neville yells when the loud wailing starts. He has one hand on his ear, the other on the plate, but it doesn’t matter. “Is it set?”_

_Ron sets the papers with their plans on fire. They’re the last ones to leave, they don’t need anyone else finding out what they did._

_“Fifty years!” Hermione yells over the angry shrieking._

_When they’ve all placed their hands down on the plate, she fiddles with a dial and then Draco and Astoria start chanting._

_The last Ron sees is his beautiful wife of forty-odd years, her face twisted in a scream._

_And outside the warehouse, the world burns._

* * *

“I really don’t want to do this, Tom,” Harry says, “please don’t think I do.”

“Spare me, Potter,” Tom spits, ink seeping out from the corners of his mouth the same way it’s seeping out of the book. He’s bleeding out, but slowly, _painfully_.

“I’m sorry,” Harry says and with a grimace, he slams the fang into the diary.

Tom’s scream echoes through the chamber long after he’s gone.

* * *

_Kilometres away, someone gasps with pain._

* * *

“It’s good to see you.” Ron sighs deeply and clasps Harry’s shoulder, squeezing. “I’m sorry.”

“Yeah,” Harry says.

They carefully levitate each other up the tunnel again.

Harry traces the small snake with a bitter smile. “ _Close_ ,” he whispers softly.

  
  


~fin.

**Author's Note:**

> Yay, you made it safely to the end! Thanks for reading, I hope you liked it, and I hope you have a great day.
> 
> P.S.: I have questions, too. I left myself quite a few backdoors for a continuation if I ever feel like it lol.


End file.
